bathing the sand in swatches
of tangerine, indigo, lavender

your hand rests on mine
there in the reedy grasses

just like it was at the beginning
but weren’t we tentative then–

fumbling toward something
I wasn’t sure you wanted?

we’ve learned to bend into each other,
these days between our first words

and last and how lucky it is to have
a nodding acquaintance with passion,

veneration for the inevitable
without being ransomed to either